Stu woke up screaming, per the norm, having just had a nightmare in which he was being pursued by the Hamburgler. That feisty little bastard was hell-bent on burgling his precious, precious hams, the very same hams that he had been grilling on that fateful June Monday when his entire life went up in delicious flame-broiled flames. Upon waking, Stu was relieved to find his hams safely tucked away under Couch where they lay, safely unperturbed. Stu, relieved, sighed with relief as he got up to welcome the day. He dressed in his finest Evening Gown and bid his good friend Couch (the only one he could trust) ado, as he went on the town to find himself a suitor. All of the young women with whom he had attended Cotillion with had long since gotten married to rich young men whose families were in good standing in the town. Stu was desperate, for if he didn't marry soon, he would become a spinster and then he would never be able to find himself a proper young gentleman!
Stu knew that before venturing out to find oneself a man, it was customary (and good luck) to order an excessive amount of food from a local take-out place and not eat any of it. Stu called up Zippy's Snappy Home Delivery Service and placed an order for 37 baked apples, 42 buffalo burgers, 13 pizzas, 15 "filthy Mexican custards" (flan), 11 more baked apples, 8 mayonnaise, a hammock of cake ™, a 2-litre bottle of Diet Coke ™, and a small salad with lite vinaigrette dressing on the side. He hung up the receiver and immediately left for the airport, where Denver's most eligible bachelors gathered to discuss such novelties as the horseless carriage, bicycles with one giant wheel and one very small one, and women voting. "Yes, there were sure to be many fine young men with handlebar mustaches in such an establishment. Good thinking, Stu." Said Stu. "Why thank you, Stu." replied Stu. "You're quite welcome, Stu." Stu said. Stu conversed with Also Stu as he marched gaily (meaning happily) down the street.
Stu arrived at the airport and looked at the watch he had hastily drawn on his wrist. "Goodness me!" he exclaimed "It's already quarter past duck!" He stood in the entrance way, taking in the sight of the hustly- bustly activity that was taking place all around him, his large, cumbersome hoopskirt, layered with many crinolines made from the finest silk and lace, blocking the sole entrance/exit (it was a very poorly-designed airport). He thought long and hard about the best way to attract a handsome, young, wealthy man whose family was in good standing in the town. Then it came to him. He rushed urgently with the utmost urgency to the McDonald's near the baggage claim. Although there were eight other McDonald's in this airport, and the one near the baggage claim's shake machine was always broken for some fucking reason, he knew in his bones that it was the right one.
So, he ran like a mofo on fire to that McDonald's when he was distracted by the sight of the rounding, turny baggage carousel. His thoughts turned to what Couch had said earlier: "Repent! For the Day of Judgment grows nigh!" No, wait, the other thing that Couch said. "You should ride the baggage carousel naked." Yeah, that's the one. Since Couch was the only one he trusted, he began to peel off his many of clothing. When his Finest Evening Gown lay in a pile on the ground, Stu "Baby New Year" Pickles climbed onto the conveyer belt. He semi-hid his man meat by sitting with his knees under his chin with his arms wrapped around his calves. His thick purple chest rug, robust and healthy, stood in stark contrast to his pale, emaciated frame. He sat motionless, staring straight ahead with drooping lids. That's when he saw him— a fine young gentleman, dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit, complete with an elegant cummerbund and handsome bowtie. A gold fop hung from his pocket. His thick amber hair was combed neatly back. His piercing blue eyes twinkled in the wind. A mischievous, yet respectful smile played upon his perfectly bowed lips. He looked like he had stepped right off the pages of a Jane Austin novel. (Which Stu thought was perfectly feasible.) Stu was so excited that he had finally found a wealthy young gentleman whose family was in good standing in the town! He was indescribably relieved that he would not have to marry Spike after all. He began to compose a break-up letter to Spike in his head.
"My Dearest Spikeworth, It pains me immeasurably with all my heart to have to deliver this news to you. I fear that I must break off our engagement, for I have found someone else. Please believe when I say that it is nothing personally against you, for you are a dear, dear friend. However, I am afraid that your family is not in good standing in the town. For your father is a drunkard and is in debtor's prison."
The young dude approached him luxuriously and introduced himself as Archibald Pennyfarthing IV, baron of Wall Street. Heir to a railroad fortune, perhaps. Stu's heart skipped a beat. "Archibald, did you know that there has long been a theory, expressed by historian and former British naval intelligence officer Patrick Beesly and author Donald E. Schmidt among others, that Lusitania was deliberately placed in danger by the British authorities, so as to entice a U-Boat attack and thereby drag the USA into the war on the side of Britain. A week before the sinking of the Lusitania, Winston Churchill wrote to Walter Runciman, the President of the Board of Trade, stating that it is "most important to attract neutral shipping to our shores, in the hope especially of embroiling the United States with Germany.
Archibald was charmed and delighted by this Southern bell's wonderful tale. It was truly love at first sight. Little did Stu and Archibald know that Archibald Pennyfeather was really Gladys Oldman, a 120-year-old escaped dementia patient. His amber waves of grain hair were really her white, almost translucent pieces of fuzz. His handsome Brooks Brothers suit was really an ancient, filthy nightgown, saturated with just… all kinds of gross shit (really, it was a fucking mess. I mean, you can't even imagine.) And his attractive, shiny gold fop was really just a cheap, badly tarnished, nickel brooch. The vast majority of the rhinestones had fallen away. Never mind that for now, though. These two crazy youngsters were in love.
Archibald extended his hand to Stu and said "Madam, it would be an honor to escort you to the park on this fine afternoon."
"Why, Archibald, I'm so flattered. That sounds lovely." He blushed and put his dainty, gloved hand to his mouth.
Archie and Stu linked elbows and strolled merrily and with great merriment through the park. Birds chirped in the trees, children laughed with joy, and flowers bloomed gloriously on this beautiful late-spring day. Archibald got down on his knees, took Stu's lace-gloved hand in his, and gently kissed it.
"Oh, Archibald. I'm the happiest girl in the world. I implore you to ask my father for my hand in marriage."
"Oh, Darling," replied Archibald, "nothing in this world would make me happier."
Stu smiled and looked up to take in the glorious spring day. That's when he noticed it. The park bench! Its legs formed a triangle! The symbol of the Illuminati! It all came crashing in on him in a crashing realization of crashingness. He was not in the park; he was in a trap set up by the Illuminati! He was, in fact, behind the airport in the dumpster alley. The airport was of course the headquarters of the Illuminati. The hornet's nest of the NSA. How could he have been so blind? And worst of all, his lover, Archie. Sweet, sweet Archie was the spy used to lure him into said trap.
Stu was abso heart-broken. "How could you, Archie?! If that's even your real name!" then he took Archibald (who is, remember, actually a 120-year-old dementia patient) and slammed his head onto the hard brick building over and over and over again. "I want the truth! Tell me all the illuminati's secrets! I have to warn the sheeple!" but it was no use. Archibald (Gladys) was already dead.
Soon, Stu heard sirens. Several Lower Agents of the Illuminati (aka the local police) took him into custardy. When he would not cooperate, they tranquilized him. He spent the night in prison.